Not Again, Not Again, Not Again
by joudama
Summary: Silent Hill 4, written for areyougame on insanejournal with the prompt 'Halluncinations; it's the room that confines me.' What is real, what is real, what is real?


**Title:** Not Again, Not Again, Not Again **  
****Fandom:** Silent Hill 4 **  
Rating:** PG **  
Warnings:** none  
**Word count: **1027 **  
Prompt:** Henry: hallucinations - It's the room that confines me.**  
Summary:** What is real, what is real, what is real?**  
A/N: **Heh, heh, I've never written Silent Hill fic before, so. ^^;; Also, the title comes from where I'm guessing the prompt comes from, a Silent Hill 4 song, "Tender Sugar." This takes place after the game and was written for areyougame on insanejournal. I wanted to do more with it, but alas, work has been kicking me while I'm down lately.

--

I moved--of course I did. After all that...who would want to live in that building again? Eileen was the same way--she wanted out even more than I did. And who could blame her?

My new apartment is nice. Well, nicer than the old one, not that that's saying much. It's a step up, as far as I'm concerned. I slept like a baby the first night I was there, and didn't wake up feeling like I was going to puke or my head was going to explode.

It was disconcerting, that first morning, though, to wake up and see a different ceiling.

Everything's different with the new place. Even the furniture (I got new furniture. I didn't want anything from the old place) is put out in a different way. It's taking me a while to get used to, but...I think I need this.

I'll get used to it soon.

--

There's a strange smell coming from the fridge. I'm going to have to scrub it down.

--

Some nights, when the moon was just right, and the shadows from the desk were in just the right way...I could almost see a crack in the wall, slowly opening.

One day, maybe I'll hunker down next to the crack, look through, see what its there.

Watch her again.

Or maybe find myself staring at the wallpaper.

--

I'm going to rearrange everything again.

--

The coffee wasn't ready yet, and I'm going on autopilot to get myself ready for work. I need a clean towel, so I open the door to the linen closet (I've got one of those now) and I'm staring into my bathroom, the _old one_, and a gaping hole in the dirty grey walls, with pulsing red symbols all around it.

"Fuck!" I yell, my entire body going tense. I shake my head, hard. And when I open my eyes, I'm staring at the inside of the linen closet, not a dirty, dingy bathroom with a gaping hole into hell.

My mind is playing tricks on me. PTSD or something, maybe. Not like I can go see a shrink for this, though. A shrink'd have me on the happy pills way before we ever got to the PTSD thing, just from me trying to explain about the dead serial killer who haunted my apartment and was killing from beyond the grave for a ceremony for a crazy cult. Yeah, happy pills.

I'm shaking.

I've just got to give myself some time, realize I'm safe. That it's really over.

I wish I'd never seen that damned ad for that apartment.

--

It had been a week or so since I saw Eileen. She'd been working overtime, so we couldn't get together until tonight.

I'm still a little nervous around her, even after everything. I guess it's a good thing, maybe. Even after everything, she can make me a little tongue-tied, and she doesn't turn away from me for it.

I think I really do love her.

We were on my way back to my new apartment, since I was finally getting to show it to her. I don't even remember what we were talking about, but I do remember when the words just died, because directly across from my door, in the wall, there were twenty scratches in the wall.

"Henry?" Eileen asks, sounding confused. She looks at the wall, and it's painfully obvious she can't see the scratches marking out the number of victims, the way the wall seems so dark--

"The--," I begin, but the scratches are gone. Had never been there. There was a door there, after all, that lead to one of my neighbor's apartments. Not a plain wall. No scratches.

"Nothing, just my eyes playing tricks on me," I finally said. Eileen looks at me, but I shrug it off. "I'm jumpy at things still," I said softly, and by the look on her face, and the way she touches my hand, she understands.

--

She still has the numbers, scars across her chest. The scars are getting fainter, but some nights, when the moonlight hits her just right, they seem to glow, blood red.

My finger traces over the scars, and they tear open, blood pouring from them, pouring down her breasts in rivulets, and I'm back in that dirty station, Cynthia dying in my arms--

Eileen stirs and lets out a soft breath, and I bury my face against her chest and hold her as tight as I can.

--

"Shit!" I let out, when my hand slipped and the razor nicked my face.

It wasn't a bad cut, but bad enough to bleed. Cuts on your face bleed like a bitch, and this one was living up to it. I tried to grab some toilet paper to stop the bleeding, but a few drops of blood landed on the basin--

--and then they spread out, far more than just that small bit of blood should have been, as if it were something alive and growing, and the basin began to decay and rust--

"Fuck!" I yelled, jumping backwards in a panic, and when I blinked my eyes the rust and ruin were gone, and the basin was the same shining white but for a couple drops on blood.

I had been kind of a slob, once upon a time. But after everything in that apartment, I can't take letting the bathroom or kitchen start to go even a little bit to seed. So now everything is bright and so disinfected that it'd be bacterial suicide for anything to try to live there.

I rushed over to the drain and washed the blood away, fast, still feeling shaken.

--

Everything's been moved around. Everything's back the way it was, back at the old apartment. When did I do that? Did I even do that?

This can't be happening, this can't be--

What the hell? _What the hell_?

Nothing's been moved. Everything's where it was. Everything's...

There's a crack in the wall again.

I think I'm losing my mind.

--

The chains are back on the door, I'm staring at them and they're not going away. I whirl around, trying to find something I can use, futile as it will be, it was always futile, and--and they're gone. There's nothing, just the normal door.

My breath is coming out too fast and I know, no matter how much I scream, I will never escape that room.


End file.
